THE WAR OF THE FIVE
by Vyrazhi
Summary: Five adventurers band together to restore peace and balance - or simply to profiteer - in the land of Aglarond, which has descended into civil war. Based upon my very first Roll20 D&D adventure. Rated T. Please R&R!
1. FREEDOM'S PRICE

_**THE WAR OF THE FIVE**_

 _A Dungeons and Dragons Tale by Vyrazhi, ©2017_

(AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is the first installment of a fanfic I'm writing based upon my very first adventure on . I have permission from my fellow party members to publish this, and one of them suggested I write from my own character's perspective at first. Therefore, it shall begin and end with Tati Svari, and…)

 **CHAPTER ONE: THE DRAGON SHAMAN: FREEDOM'S PRICE**

 _Aglarond has broken out into civil war after the tenuous grasp of the Red Wizards of Thay was broken. What's left has shattered into pieces and infighting, and you, the players, are right in the middle of it. Are you there to salvage what is left, or simply to profiteer?_

 _The choice is yours…_

 _ **On the Outskirts of the Yuirwood**_

"Look at me, filthy outsider." The tattoo-emblazoned human sneers at me. "You call yourself free?"

"Free of you, at least," I rasp, my lungs like full water skins. "That's enough for me."

"For now." He bends his neck so I can take a closer look at the etchings upon his scalp. "Recognize these?"

"Aye."

Umir Monumvirat, Red Wizard of Thay, grits his teeth. "What do they signify?"

"Your devotion to necromancy: the School of Death." I hock and spit on the ground.

Without warning, he strikes me, the meat of his palm bruising my jaw in a blow that brings tears to my eyes. "Correct. I can rend your soul in half, then quarters, eighths, sixteenths, and onward to oblivion. I can bind it any way I wish, confining you to one of my phylacteries until even the gods forget you. Perhaps I shall consume you as I do my daily meals, relishing the flavor in each morsel. Would that please you?" Silence. "Consider yourself fortunate, dear Thousand. I want you returned to me alive in chains, not as a corpse."

"Oh?" More silence. "I have celestial blood. My ancestors will kill you and all your minions beforehand."

"Why haven't they?" The Red Wizard grins. "You may be rare to my kind, but up there, you're just another aasimar among your fellows. The truth you won't acknowledge is that I value you more than your vaunted great-great-great-grandparents do. Otherwise they would have saved you." Pause. "Not praying enough?"

"What do you know about prayer? After you die, you'll become green mould in the Wall of the Faithless."

" _Ha!"_ My former master throws his head back so far I hope his neck will break. It doesn't. "I will never bow to any deity, and I will never die. You think that trinket you managed to steal from Founder Safiya will protect you? It's just a brass idol. You bow to it, yet I thought you were less of a fool than my other subjects."

"You're the fool. I'm already gaining power from it. When Vakhra and I are finally one, you'll be _nothing."_

"Brave words, but untrue." Monumvirat's voice rings dully in my ears, a rusting bell. "Run if you will, but you know you can't hide. I have allies willing to assist me. You have none, except an imaginary spirit. Do you believe you can do as you please, now that you're no longer a slave? Freedom has a _price,_ girl." He leans in so close that his face surpasses mine, engulfs mine, and I dissipate. "One you'll never be able to pay!"

My golden eyes fly open. A millipede flexes its thousand legs, then tickles my nose. I give a start.

My hand snatches it before my mind knows what's happening. I toss the vermin in my mouth and chew. Its hard shell crunches between my teeth, allowing bitter ooze to burst forth. I taste it only a little, then swallow.

As a thrall and experimental subject, I've been fed much better than this. Now that I'm free, I'm hungry.

I'm not starving, however. Vakhra has seen to that, allowing me to find the fattest insects and ripest berries. I don't lack for water, either, or a cave to keep me dry. Here in the Yuirwood, such things are plentiful. What about fire? When I collect enough kindling, I light it with the breath of my totem, bestowed upon my lungs.

That's right: Vakhra is a dragon, a brass one to be exact. He's the guardian of all free spirits, as I am one.

 _At least that's what he tells me. That's what I tell myself. How much further am I ahead of Monumvirat?_

I never stole from Founder Safiya. She offered her brass idol to me, along with one thousand gold pieces: my chattel price. She also let me choose an enchanted breastplate from her artificers' stores, along with a masterwork longspear, Bag of Holding, and basic set of supplies to keep me alive in the wilderness.

"This isn't charity," she said. "Umir is my enemy, and I mean to slay him before the week is over. Flee."

Flee I did. It wasn't long before I heard the news: The Red Wizards had turned upon themselves. Whatever tenuous hold they had upon the land of Aglarond was now shattered, the continent in a state of civil war.

My heart rejoiced, but my body groaned. How long could I survive in the Yuirwood, home to territorial elves?

Three moons, I've found. As long as I keep myself well-hidden and don't disturb my immediate surroundings unduly, the elves and half-elves don't notice me. The downsides? I always stink of fear-sweat, no matter how I scrub myself in a nearby stream. I can't stop trembling, either from hunger or constant tension. When I do sleep, I end up thrashing around on the dirt floor of my cavern, gripped in the throes of a nightmare.

Most worrisome of all, I am beginning to see things that aren't there. I'm certain they're not benign spirits.

Vakhra keeps those at bay. He lets me know when I must hide, or when a shadow isn't cast by one of the forest's wild beasts. Monumvirat has friends other than his fellow Red Wizards, who have betrayed him. He calls upon the dead, and it is they who stalk me. I've had to run from a shambling skeleton once or twice.

The Founder's gifts of gear can't protect me completely. I need to find my own allies, and soon.

My real name is Tati Svari. I'm running out of time.


	2. DARK HUNT, DARKER HUNTER

**CHAPTER TWO: THE ARCHER: DARK HUNT, DARKER HUNTER**

 _On the Outskirts of the Yuirwood_

(AUTHOR'S NOTE: The following character, Killian Darkbow, was created by one of my fellow party members on Roll20. Thus, I have his permission to write from Killian's perspective.)

You can hide in your camouflage robes all you want, Thayans. I'll still follow your auras to their loathsome source.

Each Red Wizard has his own magical signature, driving me wilder with hunger than the aroma of roasted game.

It's one part ether-imbued silk, one part electricity, one part enchanted weapon - usually a quarterstaff – and a faint touch of ink. I know which of you sport green designs on your scalps, which ones violet, orange and blue. I even recognize your elders' tattoos, intricately embossed with powdered bronze, brass, silver, and gold.

One by one, I'll pierce your skulls with my arrows and make your foci run with crimson streams.

So far I've only sensed three of you. Seeking to flee from the chaos you've caused? You believe that's the natural outcome of your system of hierarchy and progressive betrayals, but I know better. You're cowards. First you scheme amongst yourselves, then leave the rest of Thay to clean up the carnage in your wake.

No more. You're a reclusive lot, and should have remained cooped up in your tower. Now you're in _my_ territory.

The elves here, and their half-human cousins, know much about the wilderness but nothing of predation. They seek to live in harmony with Nature, preserving balance, or so they claim. I realize there's no such thing. The law of this forest is the same as the faraway jungles of Chult: Kill or be killed. As for me? I'd rather drink the Thayans' blood than bother hunting the animals here. They're not worth my time.

Speaking of which, I cast a spell to sense any nearby. My arcane sphere brushes against another one. Must investigate…

 _My first target._

Are you joking, arcanist? There you sit, in raiment thicker than the trunks of the trees I step behind to conceal myself from you. You're scorching the rabbit you've caught, instead of turning it properly on your makeshift stick-spit. You've even forgotten to put up your damn hood. That means you're shouting to all the Yuirwood who and what you are.

In one fluid sequence, I nock an arrow, aim, and fire. It pins the edge of your robe to the ground, right where I want you.

 _I'll be doing you a favor, wretch._

You gasp, then scream like a madman. I rush in with my heavily-augmented rapier and drive it through your heart.

Drool oozes out the left side of your mouth, and your whole body quivers like a dying animal.

Come to think of it, you are one.

"Kelemvor damn you!" I growl, not bothering to close your eyes. I want some crows to pluck them out as soon as possible, so you can't tell the Lord of the Dead who I am.

Those who know me – and they are few indeed – don't call me Killian Darkbow for nothing.

As I stand, I'm tipped off-balance by the pack I hate to carry. It not only slows me down, but mocks me: _You can't survive with just the black swaths of cloth on your back and around your neck. You need rations, a canteen, and something other than a rock on which to lay your head. You won't last long without me._ So many times, I've wanted to toss this stinking burden into the nearest river, but it holds more than supplies.

"Farewell, Red Wizard," I tell you, yanking the rapier out of your chest. "I detest soiling my weapon with such corrosive filth as your blood, but I look forward to our time in the Nine Hells."

 _I won't be one of your fellow sufferers, however. When next we meet, I'll torture you. Such is my birthright._

A different aura arrests my senses – one of magic and blood-essence from a much higher plane than this mortal one.

 _I can't believe it. One of my opposite number is here? Now?_

Taking off at a dead sprint, I hear long-browned leaves crunch under my feet. As a roamer, I'm more than able to skirt tree roots seeking to trip me up, brambles aiming to prick me, and most of all, serpents whose bites kill as fast as my arrows can. Whoever thinks of the Yuirwood as a peaceful place is a fool. The truth is, you need more than brawn or brains to survive out here. You need a slayer's instinct, which I possess.

 _I'm getting closer, aasimar. You reek of righteousness, even from this far away._

If there's anything that catches my attention more than those conspicuous cretins from Thay, it's those with celestial heritage and the do-gooder's zeal that comes naturally. It's in their blood, just as the thrill of the kill is in mine.

What I come upon, however, is no golden-skinned half-angel, but a well-hidden cave. It's more of a rough, open-faced hovel than a cavern, however, so I hunker down and step inside. No one's here except a curious stag beetle I stamp down into the earth. Nothing's here, except a cold, ashen fire pit and a tousled bed of leaves against the far wall. I creep further inside and sniff them. Dried ichor.

 _You're injured, whoever you are, and what's more: This is blood that brings new life, not lets it out._

With bare hands, I pluck the dirty leaves out and drop them in the fire pit. _It's better that I kill you than a bear, lass._

Then my darkness-honed eyes spy two things I hadn't before – a pile of sticks, their tips dipped in more ichor, and a crude serpentine painting on the wall. Squinting, I make it out, and my spine stiffens: A wyvern.

 _Whoever calls upon a dragon with the sign of their own blood is either insane, or has bound himself to it._

As quickly as I dare, I clamber out of the cave, only to come face-to-face with the bearer of madness herself.

" _Vakhra-i'a!"_ My second target, the celestial I smelled, raises a longspear and shrieks, her gaping eyes aglow.

I suddenly find I'm the one raising my hands high in surrender.

" _Hold,"_ I tell her, making my voice as sharp and forceful as possible. "Lower your spear, and I won't shoot."

She lowers her weapon a half-inch. "Who are you, trespasser?"

"Killian," I answer, standing my ground. "You?"

" _Tati."_


	3. SEER OF SOULS

(AUTHOR'S NOTE: The following character, Karuna Soulseer, was created by one of my party members in the _War of the Five_ RPG on Roll20. As such, I have his permission to write from Karuna's perspective.)

 **CHAPTER THREE: THE ORC: SEER OF SOULS**

 _On the Outskirts of the Yuirwood_

 _Tah-tee. So that is the Cave Woman's name._

I've been keeping an eye on her for two moons and a half – almost as long as she's been here.

Why do I want to help? I'm an orc, and my kind are not kind to strangers.

Maybe it's this: Before I saw her bony body, I saw what shone inside of it.

The Cave Woman is _bent,_ twisted by dark magic. Only the gods and a dragon spirit she calls _Vakkhh-ra_ are keeping her alive. She's hungry, alone and afraid. I don't know what she's doing in these woods. Hiding, most likely. Dark shadows haunt the places near this cave. I've seen them. So has she. So has my cohort.

"Killian!" I shout at the One from Below and come out from behind a clump of bushes. "Don't hurt her."

His head jerks toward me, but he doesn't move his eyes from _Tah-tee._ "Were you taking a piss? Help me!"

"Leave me _alone,"_ roars the Cave Woman, holding up a longspear with one hand and clenching a fist with the other. "I found this cave first. It's _mine._ No one else was living here, whether man or beast."

"Trust me," says Killian, wrinkling his nose. "It wouldn't be big enough, or clean enough, for both of us."

 _Tah-tee_ lunges forward, pointing her spear at my ally's chest, but doesn't rush him. "What do you want?"

"I smelled you from far away and came to investigate. Sweat, dirt and blood don't compliment your aura."

"They enhance yours." The Cave Woman bares her snow-white teeth like an alpha wolf. "Fiend."

"Not all fiend," says the One from Below, "as you are not all celestial. Am I right?"

"Yes, but we're still enemies. Leave, or Vakhra and I will make you leave." Silence. "Well?"

"Pardon," I say, clearing my throat and spitting into a nearby pile of leaves, "but I wanted to meet you."

 _Tah-tee_ blinks and takes a step back. I've scared her already. "Why?" She aims her spear at me.

I lower myself on my haunches. After a moment, she does the same. Killian stays standing, alert for more danger. "My name is Karuna. I'm an orc, and have known the Yuirwood longer than you have. Two moons?"

"Three." The Cave Woman raises an eyebrow. "Is that how long you've been watching me?"

"Almost." I pause. "Why are you hiding here?"

"If you were a runaway slave, freed not by law but by chaos, wouldn't you?"

 _Hmm._ "Are you fleeing the Red Wizards?" She blinks, slowly, in place of a nod. "Evil, every one of them. More so than Killian here." The One from Below gives me a pointed-tooth grin. I flash my tusks back at him. "This cave is well-hidden, but not invisible. Those with keen eyes and nose, like us, know how to find it."

"Seems like you'd better move on, then." _Tah-tee_ scowls. "Last chance."

"Wait." I stand and hold up a hand for silence. She and Killian don't move. "I want to help you. I'm not just any orc. I don't smash skulls for no reason. Neither do I see just your skin and bones." I cringe, fearing I've frightened her even more. "What I mean is that I see souls, and yours has been _mangled."_ Before she can lash out with words, or worse, attack me, I continue: "The Thayans have tortured you."

"One of them in particular." She says a name like _Ooo-meer Mon-oom-veer-rot._ "He's a necromancer, and can shape the souls of the living and the dead." _Tah-tee_ bows her head. "He shaped mine. I'm a monster."

"No. You're bent, but not broken. I can help you by touching your spirit and unmolding it, but it will be hard."

She looks up at me, her glowing yellow eyes wary. "How can I be sure I can trust you – Karuna?"

Before I answer, I finger the three orc skulls around my neck, especially the middle. "I am one who seeks to restore what has been lost – damaged since the Red Wizards turned on themselves like rabid animals. I sense you are One from Above, as Killian is One from Below. By your nature, you don't and shouldn't trust either of us. However, we travel with another who is kinder – and more powerful – than we are."

"Before I find out who he is, what more of you?" Long pause. "What else have you seen in my soul?"

"Its brightness – hot, like lightning. Here in the Yuirwood, it stands out, signaling both danger and desire. You've gotten what you wanted, which is something new for you, but at a price that may be too high." She doesn't talk more about this, and I can tell she's afraid to. "Did the Red Wizard want to snuff you out?"

"No. What _Ooo-meer_ wanted was turn me to _black_ lightning, or so he said. Obviously, he didn't succeed."

"Not yet," I tell _Tah-tee._ "I can help you resist his power. It's still around here."

Killian lowers both of his black eyebrows to a point. "What in the Hells does that mean, 'turn you to black lightning?' I've never heard of such nonsense."

"My master spoke in riddles most of the time, so neither have I." She sighs. "I still fear he'll reach his goal."

"He will if we don't move out," says the archer. "Where's our fearless leader?"

"He's coming, bringing up the rear. We've both gotten distracted by our senses." _Oh, no._ "Sorry, _Tah-tee."_

"I take no offense." She hoists her pack further up on her back. "I haven't left anything behind in my cave."

"Except your mind, perhaps?" She glares at Killian. "Joking! I hope you haven't lost your sense of humor."

The Cave Woman doesn't answer him. Instead, she asks me: "How did you get such a pattern of scars?"

Before I can say anything, Killian says, "Don't get him started. Once you do, he'll never stop."

Speaking of stopping, we do. We've come upon the head of our adventuring party.


	4. ILMATER'S CHOSEN

(AUTHOR'S NOTE: The following character, Erik Nevard, was created by our veteran dungeon master in the _War of the Five_ RPG on Roll20. As such, I have his permission to write from Erik's perspective.)

 **CHAPTER FOUR: THE FAVORED SOUL: ILMATER'S CHOSEN**

 _On the Outskirts of the Yuirwood_

"Hail, Karuna and Killian!" I call as I approach my fellow adventurers. "What have you scouted out?"

"A smelly cave and its smellier inhabitant," replies the tiefling. A female next to him glowers. "Another aasimar."

"Truly?" One of my eyebrows raises. "Who'd have thought to find so many Planetouched in one place?"

"So this makes _three_ of us?" The female, her eyes like twin sunsets, fixes her gaze upon me. "I am Tati."

"And I'm Erik Nevard." I place a hand over my heart and bow my head. "Leader of this brave and merry band, which we call the Restoration Corps. Ilmater knows this land needs restoring in the midst of chaos."

My new kin-sister, in blood if not if not in spirit, gives me a curious glance. "You mean the Broken God?"

"Aye." Taking a slow, deep breath, I brace myself against my quarterstaff. "I am one of his Chosen." When the one named Tati kneels, I help her to rise. "Nay, lass. I'm not a god, but his devoted follower."

"Just the same, he's a bit more than a man," says Killian with a smirk. "He has celestial blood, like you."

I wave his comment away. "I'm not called to be served, but to serve. Not to live in comfort, but to suffer."

"Hold," says Tati. "I have heard stories about those who are elected by their gods, one out of hundreds of thousands, plucked out of the masses stuck in the mud. How did the Broken God come to pluck you out?"

"Another time. "For now, we need to move out. I hear rustling. Could mean danger." I raise my staff; Killian readies his bow; Karuna points his spear, and Tati points hers. A doe emerges from behind a quilt of trees, stares at the four of us, then flashes her white tail and leaps away. We lower our weapons.

As relieved as we are, we don't sheath or lower them. Where deer roam, wolves will soon follow.

Making one's way through a forest, especially one as vast and meandering as the Yuirwood, is no easy task. We have to take great care not to trip over roots and stones underfoot, and Tati almost gets her foot caught in a hunter's snare. Luckily, Karuna points it out just in time for our newest recruit to avoid it.

"Thank you," Tati says, letting out a _whoof_ of relief. "So we're the Restoration Corps. What's our first thing to restore – the first step to achieving our greater goal?"

"We have a contact by the name of Janus," I tell her. "Incidentally, she is a fire genasi."

"By the spirits! We extra-planar beings might as well be more numerous than the elves here," Tati exclaims, and we laugh uneasily. "What does she want?"

"One of Janus' men, named Skalanis, has been captured by the Sylvan Collective who dwells here. We're going to negotiate for his release."

"Or, failing that, kill them," Killian says. "I still can't believe we're doing this job for as-yet-unknown pay."

"Gold isn't our main concern here." I square my shoulders. "Someone's life is at stake."

"Why did the Collective capture him? Are these elves really _that_ territorial?" asks Tati. "If so, I fear we may have jumped from the cooking pot into the fire. Who's to say they won't find us and take us prisoner, too?"

"That's why we need always be vigilant." I brush a shock of white hair from my brow. "Make haste."

No one complains. No one questions me or asks to rest, even Tati. We all sense danger, and that's enough to stifle any doubt. With my sapphire eyes as hard and faceted as the gems they resemble, I can see more than an ordinary mortal can. I grit my teeth at certain shadows, brandishing my quarterstaff as a warning gesture. They retreat, but whether they be from man or beast, I cannot tell. Rumor has it that these woods are haunted. Now that the Red Wizards of Thay have broken their tenuous alliance and scattered, I wouldn't be surprised to find a few shades or skeletons here. Maybe even demons or devils.

Not that I'm scared of any of them. The Painbearers, with whom I spent many a moon, saw to that.

"Nevard?" asks Tati after a long while. "Would you please tell me of your faith? What do you believe?"

"Ah-ah-ah!" Killian waves a finger at her. "Don't get Karuna started on his scars. Don't get our leader started on his god. Are you sure you want to be lulled to sleep by a recitation of all Ilmater's doctrine?"

Smiling, I hold up one finger. "Freedom for the people." I raise another. "Ease of suffering for all." With a third finger, I explain, "Offer a chance at redemption." Pause. "There. Are you slumbering yet, kin-sister?" Laughing, she shakes her head. Killian, on the other hand, shakes his with a grumble of defeat.

"People think my god's laws are hard to live by," I say. "They fear the trials to come if they take up the Crying God's cause. So they should – the way is more arduous than climbing a mountain – but at the end, a greater reward awaits than any sack of gold or any noble title. What you gain is strength of spirit, strength of will, and strength of body. What do you lose? Only your fear and pride."

"Losing fear is a good thing," says Karuna. "Fear makes you weak, but pride? That keeps you alive."

"I speak not of pride in survival, but the sort an evil king feels toward his subjects. He counts. They don't."

"You mentioned redemption earlier," says Killian. "Can even bastard Thayans achieve such a state?"

"Aye, but they have to repent. If not, then salvation means nothing. Redemption does not depend wholly upon the mercy of a god, but upon the desire of the sinner for it. Ilmater forces no man to fall to his knees and weep. Even though he forgives even Loviatar, she herself takes too much pleasure in tormenting others. Why would she _want_ redemption?"

Harsh words, but true. I speak as Ilmater's chosen, borne to bear the burdens of the world.


	5. VESSEL OF THE DEAD

(AUTHOR'S NOTE: This chapter is semi-autobiographical. In it, Tati Svari misses out on her first mission with the Restoration Corps because she has a touch of the "rotten guts." As it turns out, so did I. With that said, the summary Killian Darkbow gives her of the mission is the one that Killan's creator also gave me.)

 **CHAPTER FIVE: THE DRAGON SHAMAN: VESSEL OF THE DEAD**

 _Prologue: On the Outskirts of the Yuirwood_

"Well, then," I tell the rest of the Restoration Corps, "I'm glad to be a part of your company. Let's go. _Aghh…"_ Doubling over in pain, I clutch my stomach, then rush toward the nearest clump of bushes. "Rotten guts!"

"Leave her here," I manage to hear the tiefling grumble. "She won't be any help on our diplomacy run."

"On the other hand," said the orc, "she'll have no shortage of trees." He gestured toward the tall foliage.

My star-brother folds his arms across his chest. "We're not abandoning Tati in these wilds any longer. As for the rotten guts, I think living in a cave these past three moons might have had something to do with it." After I finish my current bout of bowel sickness, or rather when it finishes itself, I look to him – not the others – for direction. "What now? As much as I hate to admit it, I'm afraid those two are correct. I've fallen ill."

"Come with us, and I'll give you half my share of clean water from our skin," says Nevard. "You can rest and guard our possessions while we venture deeper into the lands of the Sylvan Collective." Thus, I do.

When the Corps returns, I ask what happened. Before our leader can answer, Killian jumps in with a smirk. "Diplomacy happened. Skalanis isn't dead. Lengthy mercenary company discussions happened. Some orcs killed some folks. Armour was stolen. Last but not least, an old man no longer lives in his house."

Karuna Soulseeker snorts. _"Some_ orcs killed _some_ folks, but my kin were slaves. Turnabout is fair play."

This strikes a deep, angry chord with me. "Aye. Sounds like the three of you had quite an adventure."

"And none of us found ourselves in need of more than one privy break along the way," quips the hunter.

 _Three Weeks Later_

Once my roiling innards have healed, and I've gotten my body and mind strong again, we receive a contract to investigate a ship that's run aground in Delthuntle. We'll claim any salvage that isn't foodstuffs. Those will go to the Freed, and I'm glad to give it to them. Hunger will _never_ drive us back to our Thayan masters!

When we reach the vessel, stuck in the sand like a hermit crab unable to climb from its shell, I shudder. The smells of salt and fish aren't the only ones in the air. My nose winces at the stink of long-ripe decay. Whoever has been here has done so for too long. My first question: How long have these men been dead?

"Hail!" shouts a stranger's voice. I immediately point my master-worked longspear. "You all must leave!"

"Why?" I call back. "Have you commandeered this stranded ship for yourself?"

" _No."_ The man, clad in a dark, hooded robe, spread his arms wide. "My name is Savelda. There are foul undead around here. They animate at night, and the sun has almost set. Get out while you still can."

"Do you have any idea how they're coming – ?" Ere I can say the word _alive,_ Killian nocks an arrow into his bow and makes sure Savelda comes down with a bad case of _dead._ "Sod it! I was trying to get information!"

"And _I_ was trying to kill a Red Wizard." He turns to me. "Did you notice his body as it tumbled into the sea?" When I shake my head, he says, "I thought your kind had keener eyesight. His bald pate had tattoos."

"So? Not all skin etchings are magical. How did you discern that _his_ were, my fiendish 'friend'?"

"Enough." Karuna gestures toward the ship. "Let's climb aboard and start salvaging before the dead walk." We set to work but don't find much of anything, except a well-worn book that Killian tosses into the ocean. Fool! If it would have been up to him, we'd all still be trying to figure out how to make fire and use tools.

My musing's interrupted by a sound that chills me _through_ the bone instead of to it: a shambling corpse.

" _They're here!"_ I shout. "Vakhra protect us!" Leaning down over the railing, I notice one of them trying to clamber up the side of the ship. I puff out a truncated line of fire. Unfortunately, all it seems to do is make the abomination's shoddy armor glow red, like smoldering coals. The sight turns my stomach. Even after all this time, having witnessed the results of Master Umir's many necromantic experiments, it still does.

"Lord of Suffering!" Nevard hoists an instrument I don't quite recall up toward the sky. "Bless this weapon!" It also glows, but white instead of red. As another one of the undead horrors boards, he attacks, spraying it with any cleric's best friend: holy water. The zombie recoils, gurgling and letting a piece of wet seaweed fall out of its rotten mouth. I suddenly remember the name of Erik's weapon: a heavy aspergillum, meant to kill ghouls such as these instead of living folk like ourselves. I give a silent cry of thanks. We're saved!

That's before I notice more resurrected corpses boarding the ship and besieging us – especially our leader.

It isn't long before he, despite his faith and holy armaments, slumps to the deck of the ship under a rain of slashes from rusty longswords. It's a good thing the aura of my totem spirit, the brass dragon, constantly suffuses me: one of vigor. It keeps our hearts beating, and Nevard's, when it's near to stopping outright.

In the meantime, my fire breath finds its strength, and I fry the fiends' foul flesh to a charred crisp. Twice.

" _Damn it, Tati!"_ roars the tiefling in the midst of the battle. "Over here!Use that spear of yours!" With a great reach of my arm, covered in the black and reeking ichor of what zombies call blood, I plunge its shining tip into the head of the rogue's attacker, splattering liquid brains all over him, my spear point, and the deck.

"Don't forget me," calls Karuna, pummeling another one with his massive magically-enhanced warhammer. He's done most of the killing around here, but to me, body count isn't that important. _Our_ bodies count. We continue defending ourselves against these enemies that, according to the slain Savelda, might reanimate. Once we triumph, Killian makes sure they won't by firing an arrow into each of our dead foes' skulls.

"Any good loot?" asks the orc once that's done. "All I see are their waterlogged shields and armor."

Indeed: Salt-encrusted chainmail and barnacle-covered bucklers won't be worth a lot at the nearest market. Still, salvage is salvage, and we pick out the best of it as part of our payment for this job. None of us claims it for ourselves. We have better gear, and as for these poor, damned souls? They won't be needing it.

"That was _hellish,"_ groans Erik as he sits up. I put my arm around him. "Why did these things come alive?"

"Killian and I found more bodies lying on this beach-head as we explored it." Remember?" asks Karuna "Whatever made them rise could have been the Red Wizard we killed, or something else on the isle itself." He looks at the three of us. "Does anyone know tracking? We could explore deeper in the forest here."

"I can't track, but I can survive." I rise to my feet, using my spear for balance. "I'll go with you, Soulseer." We venture as far as we can, but the tracks we are able to follow don't seem to lead anywhere. Laden with frustration and disappointment, we trudge back to the beach and finish our mission along with the others. The malevolent mystery of this cursed island will have to wait, at least until we can hire a mercenary ranger.

"What I don't understand," says Killian, "is what that Thayan was doing here, if not raising those corpses."

"What _I_ don't understand," I retort, "is why we couldn't have gotten more out of him before you shot him."

"What I don't understand is why you two won't stop fighting." Karuna scoffs. "You're like sibling children."

Nevard remains silent for a minute, then closes his eyes. "Why did the Broken God abandon me?"

"Because Ilmater is worthless. All the gods are." For some reason, I can't tell who says this. "Mere jokers."

"You slander my deity." Erik, whom I thought lacked the strength to stand, regains his full height. "Retract."

Silence.

" _Retract."_ Both Karuna and Killian step back two paces, then lower their heads. "That's settled. Move out."

None of us says anything as we head back to our base. None of us has received an answer to our query. The tiefling still doesn't know what Savelda's business had been aboard that ship, and I still don't know what pertinent information we could have extracted from him. As for Erik? His question haunts me most.

If Ilmater forsook him in the middle of battle, will Vakhra do the same?


	6. DEVAS AND DEVILS

(AUTHOR'S NOTE: Yes, I know a tiefling is not a devil – only one-quarter so or less – but what the heck? In a similar vein, I also know an aasimar is not a deva, but I liked the alliteration and concept of this title. MOOD MUSIC: "Alejandro," by Lady Gaga. She's singing from Tati's perspective regarding Mr. Darkbow.)

 **CHAPTER SIX: THE ARCHER: DEVAS AND DEVILS**

 _At the Restoration Corps Compound_

I've had it with the aasimar – the one who's wet behind the ears, not our leader. Where does she get off?

First Tati tried to attack me when I approached her. Understandable yet irritating, considering her insanity. Then it turned out she couldn't help in our diplomatic mission due to shitting water every five minutes. I've had "a touch of the rotten guts" before, but unlike her, I can handle it. Last but not least, she had the gall – or the naïvete, more like – to talk to a Thayan first instead of shooting him on sight. I can't believe one of their former thralls would be so foolish! Then again, this is a do-gooder deva we're talking about. An _angel._ Someone who would rather let the vilest of beings live, at least for a moment, than do what needs doing.

Nevard should have left her back in her cave, to stew in her own waste and moon's blood. She's useless.

As for him? As much as I despise his bloodline, I respect his leadership, at least. He keeps us alive.

Then again, who was it that rose during our last battle, and who fell? Fate has a wicked sense of humor...

Here she comes. That insolent tilt of her head. That stare down the bridge of her nose.

That _smell._

"There you are," Tati says, trying to keep her voice neutral and failing. "A word?"

I flash my pointed teeth. "No 'please'? No 'pardon me'? I thought your ilk were always polite."

She quirks an eyebrow. "I'm surprised you recognize that concept."

Without permission, she barges into my quarters at our compound as if she owns them. Then she bolts the door. _Smart move, idiot._ I slip my hands behind my back, clasping one around the hilt of my rapier.

"What is your quarrel with Red Wizards?" Her nostrils flare. "Why must you slaughter them before they have a chance to parley with us? Who knows what Savelda could have told us about those walking dead?"

"Aye. Who fucking knows? Certainly not you. As for me? I took action before we _became_ walking dead."

"Is that always your plan? If so, it's a poor one. Why did Nevard bring you along on the diplomacy mission?"

"In case things went south." My sneer morphs into a grin. "I prefer to let my bow and rapier do the talking."

She sniffs, pauses, then takes long strides around my room. Inspecting. Prying. My fists clench harder.

"Let's see: grimy floor, dingy bedsheets that stink of sweat and – something else I _am_ too polite to mention. Besides that, there's the hint of unwashed underclothes, which aren't as pristine as you'd like to believe."

"Oh? Grab a bucket and a brush from the innkeeper, and a bar of soap. Get to work if you're offended."

This time it's Tati who flashes a scornful smile. Have you ever seen a celestial's choppers? White as snow, they are, and it's nauseating. We all have to eat, but somehow, nary a beer stain or piece of food taints hers. "I'll be sure and tell the maids to give you a scrub as well. You need it, with a hard-bristled brush." She suddenly stares me dead in my onyx eyes with her amber ones. "You haven't answered my question."

"About Red Wizards? Why should I?" I step forward one pace. "What's it to you, wench?"

"Were you one of their slaves? Did you ever have to bend your back beneath their arcana-imbued whips?"

"No." I slide my foot against hers, then on top of hers in a quick move, pressing it down. "I _eluded_ them."

Tati shoves me. "Devil!"

 _That fucking does it._ "Deva!" I brace myself against her and push myself off. She staggers, but as soon as that madwoman regains her balance, she rushes me. Forget my rapier. Forget my bow. This calls for bare hands, bare knuckles, and besides, I don't want to skewer her like a squab. Nevard would expel me for it. I grab her hands in mine before she can claw at my face. Summoning all her strength, she grapples me, and I'm surprised to find she knocks me to the ground. I knee her right where I should, where it counts. If she'd been male, she would have howled in agony. As it is, she grunts, but I knock the wind right out of her.

She gasps for breath. I have her right where I want her. I grasp her around the torso, plunging my talons – short but sharp – into the thin silk of her corset until they find flesh. Then I start digging, and she clenches those blinding teeth of hers as hard as she can bear it. If I can make her cry out, scream, I know I've won.

She makes no sound but the hiss of her breathing. I feel heat, and not just from her body, envelop me.

The course-marks of many a lash on her pale back are suffused with fire, glowing streams of lava.

Tati breathes in my face, and not just with her normal exhalation, either. Flame bathes my entire head.

I scarcely feel it. "Fool," I huff back, my own breath tinged with the scent of sulfur. "Fire's no foe to me."

"Isn't it?" She twinges a lock of singed hair between her fingers. It smells worse than either of us do. The dragon-servant crushes the charred remains, letting the ash fall to the floor. "It's true. You're not all fiend." She stands, but doesn't bother to ask if I need hoisting to my feet. Not that I do, but it proves her to be colder than the rest of her kin. "If you'll excuse me, I have to wash the wounds on my back. Hells take you."

"Skies take you," I spit in return. "Not Kelemvor, though. You're of more use to the Corps alive than dead."

"At last, a compliment." She winks, unbolts the door to my breached quarters, and finally turns to leave.

"The Thayans." _Killian, you dolt! Tell her naught. She's still your enemy._ "They took everything from me."

We share a glance: _That makes two of us._ Tati doesn't slam my door, but doesn't close it softly, either.

What is it with wenches? Always talking, always meddling, and always yearning to discover your secrets. I'm no bloody saint, but neither am I as corrupted as my ancestors in the Lower Planes. If she finds out the truth, she might well call upon her hallowed great-great-grandparents or such to rub me out, but they won't.

Killian Darkbow doesn't flee in the face of so-called righteousness. He pierces it straight through instead.


	7. YOU WOULDN'T UNDERSTAND

(AUTHOR'S NOTE: I'm discovering that I learn just as much about our characters through writing of their adventures as through roleplaying in-game. Many thanks to Karuna for sharing a "fun fact" with me. I made up the book he's reading.)

 **CHAPTER SEVEN: THE ORC: YOU WOULDN'T UNDERSTAND**

 _At the Restoration Corps Compound_

Nothing makes me prouder than slaying enemies. My kin are born and bred for it. Battle is the cornerstone of our lives, the foundation of any clan, even a roaming one. That's what the others don't fully understand.

Killian comes close. The One from Below hates Red Wizards with every sinew in his muscles, and aims to crush them without delay. We are brothers in this, if not in blood. It took some time for me to come to terms with this, as he is part-fiend and not orc at all. Still, his bow and rapier proved themselves, and that is how he proved himself. He is cold, ruthless, unburdened by weaknesses like mercy and forgiveness.

Why is our leader burdened? I know he has been chosen by his god. I know his god preaches such things. I do _not_ know why he must love the Thayans, at least as fellow beings, instead of hate them. In terms of his faith, it makes sense to give coin to beggars and food to the hungry. I do not begrudge him this. What I begrudge him is his hidden desire to let our enemies live. They'll only attack us again, and what will Nevard's kindness have brought us but death? Even if suffering makes you strong, martyrdom is foolish.

Let's hope the green one, the Cave Woman _Tah-tee,_ quickly comes to realize this. She has a kind of strength in her, even though it comes from a broken mind and a guardian spirit. Was it fear or madness that led her to question that Red Wizard on the grounded ship, instead of kill him outright? He never would have told us more about the dead who walk, no matter what she thinks. For all we know, he raised them with his dark magic. Something else on that haunted island could have done it, but did we find it? No. If you ask me, she should have stayed a slave. Life makes no sense to her outside the Red Wizards' tower. I can tell.

I can also tell the leaders of Delthuntle are fools. They begged us for more than our contract said. Orcs never beg. They either fight or die. For the most part, they also keep promises, as I do. Even those below me know my word is my bond. If they perform well, they'll be rewarded, not betrayed. I wonder: How many times has _Tah-tee's_ master backstabbed her, twisting her spirit more than any evil art? If she would have served me, she'd have been far better off. How many people has Killian turned against? His kind find it as natural as mine find war. Nevard? He'd rather be stuck on a spear than thrust it into someone else's spine.

 _Hnnnrrrrh._ Even thinking about that makes my heart pump faster, my muscles tense, and my mouth water.

I'm not in the mood for training, though. I've done so this morning. Now it's time for...other study:

 _Scalp Etchings of the Red Wizards: Sanguine, Imbued, Metallic, Runic, and Esoteric_

"Soulseer?" asks a woman's voice. "May I speak with you for a moment?"

 _Shit!_ I thrust the rectangular object in my hand behind my back. "What is it? I'm very busy."

"Our skirmish against the zombies taught me I'd better hone my combat skills. Will you spar with me?"

" _No._ I don't mean to offend, but I only spar with orcs, whether as teachers or as students."

The Cave Woman pauses. "Your dedication to your kin is far fiercer than mine. However, why not?"

"There are plenty of others who can train you. You wouldn't understand."

She doesn't flinch, but I can see a trace of hurt in her eyes. "Being an orc? Nay. Thrusting a spear? Aye."

"Let me be, _Tah-tee."_

"Very well." She turns, and then looks behind her. "Before I go, however, what's that behind your back?"

"Nothing of interest."

"Is it something that might help us deal with our current enemies?"

Despite myself, I flash my tusks in a slight grin. "It always is."

"Good." She walks away, leaving me alone once more. I slip into an ill-used storage room in our compound, and lock the door. I have the feeling that she's seen me reading, or at least carrying a book upon my person. Most of my kind do not. In fact, I'm one of the sole orcs around here who can. The former slaves and mercenaries we've hired don't know their letters. Nor would they care. Why do I? I'll keep that to myself, at least for the moment. I don't have the obligation to divulge any part of my life to curious folks I've barely met. I'm not a beast in a zoo. Even among my own people, no one has the right to strip me of what's mine.

With that, I clutch the book tighter in my hands as I sit down to read. All the wicked mages are done for...

 _Besides their scarlet robes, scalp etchings are the most common way to distinguish Red Wizards. The five discussed in this volume are also the most common. By category, they are:_

 _Sanguine – Blood tattoos, inked with preservative coagulants to keep them from washing away._

 _Imbued – Red Wizards who follow the gods often have their markings infused with their deity's power._

 _Metallic – Naturally, these are etched out of powdered and liquefied ores. Only elders have these._

 _Runic – The most common type of scalp tattoo, signifying a Red Wizard's school of magic._

 _Esoteric – The most dangerous and painful of etchings to bear, this is carved all the way down through the scalp into the bone of the skull, letting glowing ether shine through the designs. This allows the Red Wizard to focus mana like no other, although at a cost to his body and soul all at once. The more that esoteric markings are utilized, the weaker the Wizard becomes, unless he or she is a master arcanist._

A shudder ripples down my spine at this last paragraph. I've never seen a Thayan's skull glow like a lantern, letting its light shine through ley lines of focus. How I'd love to smash one with my trusty warhammer!

 _Regardless of which etching a Red Wizard bears, know this: It is absolutely lethal. None have the sheer amount of single-minded dedication to the arcane arts than the Thayans do, for good reason. Other practitioners of magic are also husbands, wives, brothers, sisters, and members of society._

 _Red Wizards are not. They've formed their own, and they seek to dominate all others._

"Yes." I murmur this word to the empty air, filled with the scents of dry lumber and stored grain.

They seek to enslave us all, orc or not. If you don't understand this, Restoration Corps, you know naught.


	8. ILMATER'S TEACHINGS

(AUTHOR'S NOTE: During our last mission, in which we fought against undead which may or may not have been raised by Savelda – a now-dead Red Wizard – our leader fell. Here are his thoughts regarding…)

 **CHAPTER EIGHT: THE FAVORED SOUL: ILMATER'S TEACHINGS**

 _At the Restoration Corps Compound_

It's amazing how much one can heal, in body and soul, when one secludes oneself from others.

For the past week, I've confined myself to my quarters. Behind locked doors I fast and pray, pausing only to sip water from my shrinking skin. I allow no visitors, not even those of our company who wish to help. My deity commands me to face this trial alone and reflect upon my failure. Why did I fall, especially against foes I was meant to destroy? Zombies are some of Ilmater's most loathed enemies. Why could I not spray holy water out of my aspergillum fast enough to turn them, or at least pull them off of the rest of our party? Why was I nearly useless? _O Broken God, if thou wilt not bless me, at least deign to give me an answer…_

Silence. I groan, slumping so my elbows land on my straw mattress.

My body quivers, weak and cold on the inside from lack of food, but I must press on. I must endure.

The image of a ball of fire hurtling through the air, and the one who cast it, flashes before my eyes. _Killian._ As amoral as he is, even he proved stronger in a fight, I don't even think he worships a god, yet here he is, smug in his part in the Corps' victory. I'm glad to have been mostly away from him this past week. As kind and forgiving as I try to be, forbearing of his insults to my star-sister and his single-minded contempt for Red Wizards, he tries my patience day and night. He hasn't knocked at my door, nor have I wished him to. I don't want to get into an argument or pissing contest with him – not when it will waste time for both of us.

If Ilmater has taught me anything of battles, it is to pick them wisely. I had not thought I'd been foolish…

The fireball in my imagination dissolves into naught, a mirage in the desert of my seared mind, as it's pierced by the point of a master-worked longspear. I hear a woman's howl of rage, and the crackling of fire-breath. _Tati._ At least she has the sense to pay homage to something greater than herself – a dragon spirit, in this case. It may not be one of the lords of Faerun, but its power has infused and inspired her. Without the shaman's persistent aura of vigor, issuing from that same spirit, I would have joined my master for sure. She fought off the zombies as they rained blows down upon the two of us, and stabilized my dying carcass.

Unschooled and untrained as Tati is, how did her brass dragon prove itself mightier than my own true god?

The vision continues, making my sapphire eyes water and my mind reel. My kin-sister screams as a zombie claws her flesh. It, in turn is bashed by my ally's warhammer. _Karuna._ His last name may be Soulseer, but in the heat of a skirmish against foul undead, all he sees is the whiteness of the skulls he aims to smash. There's a verse in the Scriptures of the Lord of Suffering that warns not to rely upon one's own strength. As much as I hate to admit it, for he is a remarkable warrior, Karuna has this flaw. 'Tis his kin's way. Orcs train from the cradle to the grave to fight, to depend upon their own might and that of their tribe. The desire for conquest runs through Karuna's veins like the desire to ease the world's suffering does through mine. The difference is that I had to learn of my desire and hone it. Fighting comes as naturally to him as breathing.

The day shall come when his muscles shall fail him, sooner or later. What will the orc myrmidon do then?

As soon as the zombie in my vision slumps to the deck of the ship, its skull obliterated, he rushes to me.

"Nevard? _Nevard?_ Stay with us! The zombies are dead. All of them. Dead. Dead."

 _Dead…_

Ilmater teaches five fundamental truths regarding this, in his holy Doctrine of Departing:

 _Death is a cyclical, inevitable part of life._

 _Death leads to suffering, and suffering leads to death._

 _Death is not the closing of a doorway, but the opening of one, to meet the Crying God._

 _Death is something no one should fear, but anticipate with faithfulness and vigilance._

 _Death of the self must come before death of the body, in order to become a Suffering Saint._

It hits me like a hunger pang, slashing through my empty guts, that I haven't absorbed the meaning of this fifth truth. Here I've been, praying and starving myself to prove my devotion to Ilmater, when I've been belittling the efforts of my allies! I've sought to save them and bring them into my Lord's light, when they kept me from returning to it! Without another word, I unlock my door and call for my company's company.

"Glad you've rejoined us, Nevard, says Killian, "but couldn't you have taken a fucking bath first?"

" _Tsits, ti!"_ I think that's Tati's slaves' cant for _Shut up, you._ "I'm also relieved you came out of seclusion, sir."

"I was getting worried," Karuna mutters. "When it comes to food, sometimes you eat as much as I do."

Despite myself, I manage a weak laugh. "Quite true! Before we have the cooks make us a feast, however, I've something to say. During this past week, I've fasted and begged for answers from my god. Why didn't he help me in our last battle? The thing is, he did, through you. I owe all of you my life, and my gratitude."

The Soulseer isn't sure how to respond to this. He coughs. "You're welcome, but 'twas only my duty."

The dragon shaman quirks an eyebrow. "Did you learn anything else during your week-long vigil?"

"Aye. Credit in a battle belongs not to the ones who boast of taking lives, but those who save them silently."

Karuna snorts derisively. Killian frowns. Tati's eyebrow rises higher, signaling her uncertainty as well as curiosity. In time, perhaps I can teach her about Ilmater, and what he has revealed to me through this revelation. Now, however, is not the right moment. We head for the kitchens with a whoop and a cheer, ready to lay waste to as much meat and drink as we can. We'll need our strength for our next contract.

 _May Ilmater fortify us, all of us, no matter what we do or don't believe. We require all the aid we can get._


	9. A PIRATE'S DEATH FOR YOU

(AUTHOR'S NOTE: When I write, I like to make up my own words – especially weird acronyms, ad slogans or modern slang. See if you can find my version of "nothingburger" in this chapter. _Bon appetit!_ By the way, this chapter is why this whole fanfic is rated T instead of K or K+. You have been warned. _)_

 **CHAPTER NINE: THE DRAGON SHAMAN: A PIRATE'S DEATH FOR YOU**

 _Prologue: At an Inn in Delthuntle_

Nothing makes my mind wander to exotic, far-off places like _waiting._ It even makes me think up jests: How do you make fools out of four adventurers who pride themselves on not being fooled? Simple. Dangle a reward of ten thousand gold in front of them, and then, after a long and fruitless night, let them find out the reward remains out of reach. I feel bamboozled right now, at this "reputable" establishment in Delthuntle – where we gained our last prize, as a matter of fact. At least the salvage we claimed from the Vessel of the Dead was real. As for the elven agent we're trying to capture? He hasn't shown his face.

"How much longer?" I grumble, taking a long drag of wine that's mostly water. "I want to hurl my spear."

"Patience is a virtue," says our leader with a smile. "So is not using violence as a first resort."

"Not funny, Nevard," says Karuna, tossing back the remainder of his mug of ale. "Another. Be quick!"

The tiefling – Killian – smirks. It doesn't take a psionic to decipher his expression: _All brawn, no brains._

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch someone approaching us. A man, no doubt, and a fine one, but his ears lack the definitive point of an elf's. Also, would a spy wear nothing but a silk wrap around his waist or a belt of jangling coins? "Hail. I'm Cassius," he says, gazing straight at me. "Your pleasure tonight?"

My body stands up before my mind realizes what's happening. "Don't let me sleep unsung."

Cassius takes my arm, takes me, then takes ten gold from my sweaty palm. "For you, a sizable discount."

Blushing, I let him depart with a sated grin. I, however, am still ravenous, so I go back to the main hall.

Killian winks an onyx eye and sidles up close to me. "What you wanted, I might have given for free."

Vakhra's breath surges in my chest. It takes all my strength to restrain its fire. "What?! It's likely _pointed!"_

Karuna does a spit-take with his new tankard, spewing ale foam. Nevard frowns. Killian bares his teeth.

"I'm off to bed, and this time I'll be sleeping." To the raucuous laughter of the fiend, I storm away.

 _What a naught-steak this mission is. What a naught-steak HE is, and Kelemvor damn me before…_

 _En Route to Spandeliyon_

Our second prospect for work in this recent span proves far more promising than the first. Lord Ashdown, an elven noble contact – but not the same one who wished us to capture the spy – has another task. In the land of Spandeliyon, a notorious scoundrel named Natrald and his band of not-so-merry men have been causing trouble. Ending it is to be our first priority. Ending his access to ill-gotten treasure's our second one.

"Bring me his head," Ashdown commands, and we're all too eager to do so. Except for our leader, maybe.

He asks Karuna an odd question: "Do you have any qualms about taking Natrald down? He's a half-orc."

I thought the Soulseer might tell us to spare him, but he doesn't. "Nay. We fulfill the contract as stated."

 _No pause for reflection? Something tells me he doesn't consider half-orcs to be kindred. Why not? There are lesser aasimar and lesser tieflings. My people try not to treat them as lesser, so what about Karuna?_

Ere I can ask him about this, he gives the rest of us a look that says he's not to be bothered. We all obey.

"Pirates are pirates," shrugs Killian. For once, I agree with him. Natrald would take our gold and our lives if we gave him the chance, so we have to beat him to it. We must prove we're stronger than mere cutthroats.

The thing is, how do we prove we're different from them? We may not steal, but we still kill for coin…

 _At a Storehouse in Spandeliyon_

As can be expected, Natrald's headquarters is a large warehouse guarded by dozens of men. I could smell them several blocks away, their sweaty bodies and unwashed tunics mingled with salty sea air. There's no way we can take all of them on at once, no matter if a dragon spirit and the Broken God are with us.

"Follow me, and watch your step," says Nevard. We do, and to my immense surprise, he starts _singing:_

" _If on a dark path you stray,_

 _A new dawn's not far away._

 _Brighter days do lie ahead._

 _Don't let your heart fill with dread!_

 _Trust in the gods, and they shall_

 _In your heart commence to dwell._

 _Peace and comfort for your soul_

 _Shall be yours at morning's toll."_

"What in the Hells are you doing?" Killian hisses in my star-brother's ear. He sings the verse again, beaming.

The bored and listless lads guarding the storehouse perk their ears up. If I was taken aback when Nevard began to croon, I'm even more startled when their expressions abruptly match his. "Hey!" one of them cries. "We don't have to sit here all day. We can eat, drink, and be merry over at the nearest tavern. Let's go!"

"No, you dolt," laughs another one. "We go to the temple so we can pay heed to these gods he mentions." Without another word, he and several of his companions abandon their posts. How in Celestia can he –

 _Faith can work miracles. You yourself know that, and first did so when you prayed to the "brass trinket."_

A tall foreman, burlier than the others, stands and plants himself in a barricade stance. "Shut up, you."

Nevard stops his mesmerizing ballad, his mouth frozen in an _O,_ and approaches our new foe with care.

"I ain't buying it. The gods are either not here or dead, and I believe the latter. You'll soon be dead, too."

I step forward and in front of our band's head. "Are you sure? The warehouse behind you is haunted."

With a massive honk and an even more massive stench, the foreman passes gas. "Is it, now? Hah!"

Heat flashes behind my eyes, making them glow. Vakhra's awake, but I don't want _him_ to sing just yet. "Aye. I'm a shaman who communes with the spirits of the living and the dead, so I would know. Those inside seek to make a hollow man of you, and anyone else who ventures in, without their permission."

"You're lying, wench. I nay seen no spirits in here before. Never has Natrald, so shove off." Then, despite his better judgment, he asks, "What's a hollow man?"

"What you're about to be. Can't you hear them shrieking? They're called wraiths. Once they grab hold of you with their icy talons, they'll slip inside you and rip out your guts through your mouth. It's like eating, but in reverse. First they go for your intestines, then your liver, stomach, and most of your brain. They leave your heart for last, and in the end, even your bones won't satisfy them. They'll hollow out your corpse, _fool."_

Another stench ensues as the foreman soils himself. Ashamed and terrified, he darts into the street nearby.

"Here's hoping a cart runs him over," I tell our group. "Wraiths do exist, but they're nothing like I described."

We make our way inside the warehouse to find much less frightening enemies inside: cloaked rogues. They have their rapiers, and Killian has his. This time, however, he takes position near one of the open windows to fire flaming arrows inside. Karuna, Nevard and I rush them with all our might, me wielding my spear and the Soulseer a magnificent greataxe. Unlike in our last battle, our healer remains conscious and upright. When crimson streams flow down our arms and torsos, he closes our wounds with Ilmater's holy power.

"Tati!" I hear Karuna bellow all of a sudden. "Come help me bash down this door. They've fled inside!"

Apparently there's a back room in here we haven't spotted. He and I hurtle ourselves against the wood, splintering it so we can peek through a now-gaping hole, but our efforts aren't paying off fast enough. We see several more rogues dashing out the rear door. Natrald is likely not far behind them. I give a heave. _CRASH!_ The door topples off its rusty hinges, allowing the Soulseer to charge and cleave two men in half.

After that nasty work is done, we follow the remainder of the pirates to their leader, a lumbering half-orc.

Before this, I have never truly known what it means when someone says, "Off with his head." My master and the other Red Wizards preferred slower, more intricate methods of execution. At least Karuna's blow is swift and sure, severing Natrald's ugly head from his body in one stroke. Gods, how much blood gushes and sprays over us! Killian is lucky he only gets his armor a bit stained. We're drenched in steaming gore.

The fiend takes this in stride. "Looks like I missed the fun, but not the treasure," he says. "Grab his chest."

He means the heavy trunk that Natrald's men have been trying to carry while running, not Natrald's chest. That, we couldn't care less about. We split the shining sovereigns amongst ourselves, then return to Lord Ashdown with the grisly proof of our deed. With the contract fulfilled, the elven noble offers us a voucher for one magical item apiece. I choose a breastplate enchanted with twice the enhancement as my old one.

Vakhra always offers me protection, but if my enemies prove mightier, armor is an excellent guardian.


	10. TARGET PRACTICE

(AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thanks to Killian Darkbow's creator for revealing his avatar's "fun fact." He's doing…)

 **CHAPTER TEN: THE ARCHER: TARGET PRACTICE**

 _Outdoor Firing Range at the Restoration Corps Compound_

Who in their right mind would shoot targets in the middle of a thunderstorm, letting the rain lash his back?

Who would fire arrow after arrow into the deluge, knowing that in the end, they would always hit their mark?

Who would mutter a word darker than any curse, underneath his breath, every time his bowstring twanged?

Who, indeed?

Even now, as chilly raindrops spatter my armor and rise as steam, I wonder at this – and myself.

 _How much is left of you, Killian? How long before your ancestors call you home to prove your worth?_

I nock and release another arrow. I add another exclamation to the ones I've uttered: _ad'rokhen._ In my native tongue of Infernal, it describes me better than any Common noun could. Did you know that in the language of my kind, there are more than fifty words for "damned?" _Ad'rokhen_ is more accurately translated as "worthily damned by right of Plane-blood," so it's a compliment, not an insult. It isn't like _ad'nul,_ "damned nothing," or _ad'negod,_ "damned wretch." Both of these denote ordinary, worthless spirits who have been deemed fodder for the Abyss or the Nine Hells. They're meant to endure agony I am meant to inflict it.

 _Thwack._ Another missile of mine finds its way into target-flesh, and I murmur _uvyad'_ to myself. "Fading."

I'm disappearing. Fading away. Whatever scraps I still have of what men call a soul, I grasp with ferocity.

"Killian!" I hear Karuna bellow through the storm. "What are you doing out here? Come back inside."

"I thought rain didn't scare orcs," I call back, raising my middle finger in a half-playful, mocking gesture.

"Suit yourself." He returns it and ventures back into our compound. Good. I'm in no mood for company.

Our last mission, taking out some pirate scum in Spandeliyon, has put me off. Lord Ashdown might be rich as a king, but somehow he doesn't believe in paying us gold for our trouble. Rather, he gave us vouchers for magical items. How are we supposed to buy food with those? No innkeeper will take an enchanted spear or breastplate in trade for meat and ale. Therefore, I pretend the target is Ashdown's head as I aim two blazing arrows right between his eyes. Take _these_ magic items, you sodding fool! _Thwack. Thwack._

What Infernal words shall I add to the ode to my soul? Let's see: "worthily damned, fading…" _Gah!_ Naught.

Even worse than being paid in arcane junk is being paid nothing, for a mission that turned out to _be_ nothing. Ten thousand sovereigns we were offered, by one elf to capture another elf. A spy. He was reported to be working against the Vigil, to whom our Restoration Corps has ties. We were tasked with finding and arresting him, then taking him by force to Valprintalar. Such was what we were meant to do. Instead, we wasted the night at a dingy, stinking inn in Delthuntle, where we'd fought zombies on a ship that had run aground. I daresay that mission was more exciting than this one. We were remunerated in salvage then.

Now? In my mind's eye, the target becomes the pate of Governor What's-his-name. I send him to the Hells.

Still, no words come. I gnash my teeth, because like the souls I'm meant to torture, I'm suffering in truth.

 _What is this? What's distracting me from the hunt, from the kill?_ I hurl a fist in the air, and then it hits me:

Two vermin, fat and sucking leeches, won't release themselves from my mind: the two aasimar in our Corps.

Nevard and Tati. They've attached themselves to the skin of my spirit and won't let go. One seeks to save me, the other to defeat me. I can't believe our leader had the gall to reveal his plans for me to my face.

"Someday I'm going to get the notion of redemption through your head," he said. _Redemption?_ That's for naïve fools like him, who reek of faith, and weaklings. I ask you this, slave of Ilmater: Would it diminish or strengthen me? If I spent the rest of my days saving farmers from bandits, preaching to peasants, and giving all my hard-earned coin to beggars, wouldn't that drain me more quickly than making my bow sing? It would be a betrayal of my nature, and that's why I loathe those who've "gone straight." Why be an honest laborer, breaking your back in the broiling sun for next to naught, when you can be a dishonest rogue and be rich? Moreover, if your heart's desire is to conquer and kill, redemption would be damnation for you.

Even Karuna, as witless and artless as he is, understands this. Neither of us sinners wants to be a saint.

Does Tati? _Hmmm…_ As I think of her, I stride to the target, yank all the arrows out, and relish when a bolt of lightning splits the air. I refill my quiver, feeling myself stiffen slightly. I don't mean my spine, either.

 _Thwack. Thwack. Thwack. Thwack. Thwack._ Faster and faster, my arrows fly, as do the words to my ode:

 _A worthily-damned soul, by right of Plane-blood, is fading away._

 _As power courses through his bow, his own power diminishes._

 _With every forehead pierced, every skull shattered,_

 _His flesh strengthens, yet his spirit shrinks._

 _Scraps of want and scraps of will. These are all that remain._

 _When the time comes for the one who wields_

 _A bow of shadows and a blade of dusk_

 _To return to his ancestors,_

 _An abyss mirroring the larger one will yawn within his frame._

 _Naught he'll seek._

 _Naught he'll feel._

 _He'll be a vessel for his kindred's will._

Even as One from Below, as Karuna calls me, this fills me with revulsion.

I don't want to be a vessel for their will, but for my own.

As the storm calms, I receive an answer from within: _Corruption. Debase her, and bring her down with you._

Satisfied at last, I head back inside. Target practice is over.


	11. HUCKSTERS AND HALF-BREEDS

(AUTHOR'S NOTE: No, I don't intend to be a racist troll, but to explore the issue from Karuna's perspective. He is a full-blooded orc, but the lead pirate on our last mission wasn't. Therefore, the Soulseer speaks of…)

 **CHAPTER ELEVEN: THE ORC: HUCKSTERS AND HALF-BREEDS**

 _Evening at the Restoration Corps Compound_

 _Hnnnrrhh. People_. If they aren't orcs, the more I disdain them and the less I understand them.

Even if they're "imbued" with celestial blood or "tainted" with the fiendish sort, they don't compare to my kin.

For starters, they wouldn't have gotten so frustrated at wasting a night – one single night! – at an inn.

We'd been tasked by Delthuntle's perfumed elven governor, Fenixsys, to arrest an agent working against the Vigil. I never thought that the head of a city so insignificant, in terms of the larger and wider world, would have ten thousand gold at his disposal – especially to offer mercenaries. We all jumped at the chance, of course. Unfortunately, our target didn't show, but that's no excuse to grumble and whine like children. The One from Below should have known better, and the two from Above? One of them could have been patient.

Instead, he gulped cup after cup of wine, and he heads our band! The other? She's too green, too undisciplined, to know how our company ought to work. Rather than making conversation or proving her skill as a lookout, she went and "made commerce" with one of the inn's "pleasure patrons." By the worthless gods, _Tah-tee!_ If that's how you pass time on stakeouts, why don't you hire yourself out? You'd be of some use to someone, if not the rest of us. Leave Corps matters to more focused members.

I know how to get the job done, especially if it involves killing. _I_ should lead, not that holy fool Nevard.

We're not a bunch of hucksters, adventuring for fun and profit. We mean business and prove it in blood.

Which brings me to an irksome question the preacher asked me, before our second mission:

"Natrald, the infamous pirate we've been tasked to kill by Lord Ashdown, is a half-orc. Karuna…would you have any qualms about striking him down? Knowing your heritage…"

 _Heritage?_ "That means nothing," I growled, giving a derisive snort. "We have a highwayman to slay."

"But…"

"We treat half-orcs like any other foe – or slave. Kill them, or work them to death."

Nevard opened his mouth, shut it, opened and shut it again. At long last he fell silent, with a sour frown. What didn't he understand? Pirates are pirates, no matter what race. As for mine? We don't consider half-breeds to be kindred. _Their_ blood is the kind that's tainted, not the aasimars' or the tiefling's. Certainly, there are minor descendants of such beings, one-sixteenth Planetouched or less, but they do not concern me.

What concerns me is when my people get it into their thick skulls to mate with inferior wretches. Humans are the worst, followed by elves and whatnot. Conquest is all well and good, but the plunder of prisoners is a waste. Why violate their bodies, when you know they might bear offspring from such a pathetic union? Orc blood is strong. Orc blood is hardy. We do not fall prey to the ailments and diseases, the aches and pains, which others are always complaining about. Why debase ourselves for a bit of sport after a battle?

Natrald, whatever strength he may have otherwise possessed, was weaker than me by nature.

When we reached his headquarters, a warehouse that I could tell stunk of rat shit from a block away, it was easy enough to get past his scores of bodyguards. Lazy whelps, they were, lounging about in the sun and pouring ale into their gaping mouths. _Hah!_ They might as well have been everyone but me, back at that inn in Delthuntle. First Nevard enthralled them with a jaunty tune about happier days ahead, if only we'd put our faith in the deities of Faerun. Rubbish, but it worked. Then the Cave Woman, the dragon shaman, put the fear of something far more terrible in them: wraiths. She lied, but her description made Natrald's foreman soil his drawers! I laughed so hard my belly shook, as he quickly found the shortest path to the sea.

All that was left was to charge into the storage house and make mincemeat of the half-breed's henchmen.

Why do swashbucklers think wearing bright green capes will make fighting any easier? Cloaks are donned for protection on long, cold nights, or else for fashion, for which I have no use. As for theirs? When _Tah-tee_ channeled the breath of her totem spirit, it lit their capes on fire and made them shriek like little girls. While they were trying to rip them off and stamp on them, I put them out of their misery with my greataxe. Killian also aimed for their swaths of emerald cloth with his blazing arrows. What fools these dandies were!

After we finished the four or so in the main room, who were trying to take cover behind barrels and sacks, we had trouble trying to reach the storage quarters in the back. Despite my best efforts, I couldn't cleave the door in half immediately. Whoever built this reeking rat-haven had known his craft, and I called our newest recruit to help me. She rushed over and splintered the wood with her spear, smashing through with a might I hadn't known she had. _Vakhh-ra_ must have assisted her, and for this I was as grateful as she.

I was even more grateful for Killian, when he covered the escape route of Natrald and his remaining rogues. Hells-spawn or no, he can sprint faster than any of us, his feet being as swift as his arrows.

" _Rrrraahhhhh!"_ I charged at the pesky pirate and parted his head from his body with one swift stroke.

Unlike other times, and with weaker weapon-wielders, this was as easy as it looked.

Natrald's head made a grotesque trophy, but not for the usual reasons. Orc skin is of thick, wrinkled texture in swamp hues of blue-gray, brown, green, and red-violet. His? It was as sunburned as a human's, with peeling flesh on his nose and cheeks. Our hair? It's either coarse, or we shave our heads. Natrald? His tresses were braided into a long, girlish queue, held in place by a gold band and scented oil. What a fop! Worst of all, he had no proper tusks. His teeth, rather than resembling an orc's, resembled a vampire's.

"Did you suck blood while you were alive?" I asked the head, then howled. "Or something else, perhaps?"

"Enough," snapped Nevard. "He's dead, isn't he?"

"Indeed! Let us return to Lord Ashdown and claim our reward for dealing with these writhing worms."

We were given slips of parchment that granted us access to trinkets from the noble's treasure store. I would have preferred gold, but never scoffed at a new weapon or piece of armor. I chose without emotion, as I fought without emotion at the warehouse. When you have a job to do, feelings should have no part of it.

Unfortunately, my own feelings still simmer below the surface: my disdain for Nevard and his sermonizing, my hard-won respect for Killian and his undying hatred of Red Wizards, and my longing to whip _Tah-tee_ into shape. She knows the power she commands but a little, and I could turn her into a raging dragon.

If they were only orcs, our company, our "Restoration" Corps, would be the most feared one in Faerun.


	12. ILMATER'S LAWS

(AUTHOR'S AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL NOTE: I was raised in a fundamentalist Christian faith and family. We didn't always go to church, but once we started, the rest is history. In the lore of D&D, I personally think Ilmater is the closest Faerunian god to Jesus Christ in real life. Both are patrons of endurance, suffering, and pure love for all. It is with this in mind that I present the third chapter in Erik Nevard's explanation of…)

 **CHAPTER TWELVE: THE FAVORED SOUL: ILMATER'S LAWS**

 _Evening at the Restoration Corps Compound_

"Tati? Might I have a word with you?" I approach the dragon shaman with cautious respect.

She must see something in my eyes, because her own flicker with apprehension. "Is something wrong?"

"Not in terms of…I mean…" Why do I find myself tripping over my own tongue? "Please, come with me." My star-sister follows, and I feel myself flush. Not with desire, but shame. Not with excitement, but anger at both myself and her. I'd intended to be straightforward, to come right out with my accusation, but I can't. Rather, I've turned into a stuttering idiot who can't shut the door to his own quarters without trembling.

 _Ilmater help me._ "You and Cassius, the other night," I finally manage to blurt. "Explain yourself."

The corner of her mouth quirks upward in an amused smirk. "What's to explain? We made commerce."

"That's 'we made commerce, _sir,'_ and don't you forget that last part." I inhale sharply. "I'm wroth with you."

Tati bites her lower lip, looking nervous but not contrite. "I put our mission in jeopardy, didn't I? We were charged with arresting an operative and bringing him to Valprintalar, but I wasn't looking for him when I…"

"No." I plant my feet in fighting stance, then think better of it. "Yes. I mean no." _Blast it!_ "You weren't keeping your eyes out for the spy, or your mind on business, but that's not why I'm furious. Your conduct's shameful."

She shrugs. "Is it? I paid him well for his services, and he even gave me a discount. I returned quickly."

"You know what I mean. The so-called 'oldest profession' is the oldest sin in every holy book, Tati."

"I don't believe in sin. No offense, but that's not how I was raised and trained. Why take umbrage at me?"

" _Damn it!_ I take umbrage for the both of us. You, having been a slave of the Red Wizards, truly don't know any better, but you should have had the sense to keep watch for that shifty elf instead of bedding a male whore. Therefore, I take your transgression upon myself only partway. I bear the full burden of my own. I _do_ know better, but didn't dissuade you from your errant errand. I did nothing to stop you, but should've."

She has the gall to laugh, her voice tinkling like brass bells. "I might not have listened to you anyway."

In three quick strides, I cross the room and back her against the door. "Do so carefully, Tati. Do _anything_ like that again, especially when we're on a job, and I _will_ punish you. As your captain, I'm within my rights."

The door shakes so hard with the force of her quivering that I'm tempted to release her, but I don't.

"For being negligent, I'm sorry. For what I did with Cassius, I'm not." Her voice breaks on the final word.

I back away from my entrance, glad it's locked, but sad it's come to this. "I should have warned you. My god considers the lawful bond between a husband and wife to be sacred, and your actions made a mockery of it. Prostitution is a social ill common in all societies, based upon ignorance and coarseness. Upon sin."

Tati is silent for a long while. When she finally speaks, it's in a hoary rasp. "If you're hungry, don't you eat?"

"Yes, but no one ever died for lack of having their lusts satisfied. What you wanted was a _want,_ not a need."

She lets her eyes slide closed. I can see tears welling underneath her lashes. "Not for me, sir. _I_...need."

 _That's where you've gone astray. Selfishness, not money, is the root of all evil, but you're nowhere near ready for such a truth._ "You may think so, especially since you're young and – unmarried, but you'll learn."

My kindred-sibling doesn't bother to wipe the droplets away from her cheeks. "Tell me what else I'll learn."

 _At last! A receptive soul._ "Ilmater teaches us this: Not only are relations between a man and wife holy, but so is the reason why. Without marriage and its consummation, there'd be no legitimate children. The earth would be full of nothing but bastards and orphans. We are not animals, and shouldn't mate indiscriminately, as they do. We should choose our partners with great care, for a lifelong matrimonial bond. Whoring turns something sacred, meant for procreation, into something profane and dirty, with no lasting value."

"I see," says Tati. "It would be like selling the right to call upon my totem spirit to the highest bidder."

"Precisely. If you were to do so, it would turn him into yet another commodity for sale, a thing, an object, not a being with whom you enter into communion. You consider your totem to be as divine as I do my god. You follow its laws, if it has any, and I follow Ilmater's laws."

"Does your god also have laws against…the passion I felt for Cassius in the moment, whether paid for or not?"

"Aye. That's lust. Passion, my dear star-sister, is folly at best and iniquity worthy of damnation at worst. If we did not give into such things, we'd be so much better off. It makes us lose our minds whilst we indulge our bodies. It plunges us into temptation and makes us act like fools. Worst of all, it takes away what is rightfully the gods': our yearning. As I long for Ilmater, and you long for your totem, others long for wine, women and song. Men, too, if they're of such a persuasion. Passion should be turned to piety. No more."

Tati giggles. "Do you mean that if I married you, I would lie underneath you and sing a hymn while you…"

" _Enough!"_ I clench my teeth. "Were you a follower of my own faith, I would flog you for your insolence." Then, after taking a deep breath: "Now it's my turn to apologize. What I meant was, don't lose your head."

"Noted." Pause. "May I go?"

"Yes." I unlock the door, then find myself blurting before she leaves. "Stay away from Killian Darkbow."

Her whitish-blonde head swivels toward me, her brass-colored eyes alight with interest.

"He means you nothing but harm."

Tati nods, leaving me to relock the door, kneel, and castigate myself with twenty lashes of a light scourge.

Ten for me, ten for her. Every crime must be paid for, whether committed out of ignorance or malice.


End file.
